


Touch

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel Phantomhive has forgotten what it feels like to be touched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

Ciel sits on the edge of his bed after his evening bath, hands folded in his lap and skin flushed pink with warmth. Sebastian looms over him, towelling dry Ciel’s hair with a firm but gentle touch. Neither speaks. It has been too long now for either of them to feel the need to fill perfectly comfortable silences with meaningless conversation, and at this time in the evening there is rarely much left to say.

Ciel is still and compliant as Sebastian manoeuvres his limbs to dry them off. Ciel often thinks the demon sees him as some sort of living ragdoll in these instances—small and easy to physically manipulate; helpless to do much of anything without the unholy being at his side. Ciel knows it to be true and is therefore beyond resenting Sebastian for bruising his fledgling sense of pride. Ciel is aware he owes the demon everything—without him he would be lying in a pine box beneath the earth, unable ever to take his revenge upon those who destroyed his family—and thus is comfortable with the reality of his dependence. He will pay well for it.

“Lift your head, Young Master,” Sebastian instructs, placing two fingers beneath Ciel’s chin and gently tilting his head. He tugs a fine-toothed ivory comb through Ciel’s unruly hair, careful never to let it snag, and arranges it just the way Ciel prefers. When he is done he withdraws his hand and turns to fetch Ciel’s nightshirt.

Ciel almost frowns at the loss of contact. He will never make his butler aware that he enjoys the feel of that comb dragging through his hair; he is sure the demon would only find some way to use such information for his own benefit. In any case, Ciel opines he enjoys this little ritual because it reminds him of his mother, who would always comb Ciel’s hair after a bath, just as gently and efficiently as Sebastian now does it. But she is gone, along with Ciel’s father, and it has been three years since another soul has laid a hand on Ciel in affection. Sebastian is the only creature in the world that touches him now, and even then such touches are borne out of necessity alone.

Ciel raises his arms over his head as Sebastian slips the clean cotton nightshirt over his body. The butler pulls it down over Ciel's hips then, so that it reaches just past his knees. “Will that be all, Young Master?”

Ciel remains silent for a while, and does not dismiss his butler straight away. It occurs to him that Sebastian is bound to him as surely as iron chains; that he will do anything Ciel asks of him, no matter how outrageous the request. Ciel ponders how it might feel to be touched again in kindness, just once more before he dies, even if such a moment is wholly manufactured and based on a lie. He supposes there is but one way to find out.

“Touch me,” he demands, loudly and decisively.

“Young Master?” Sebastian asks, begging clarification.

Ciel lets out an impatient little sigh. He reaches out to circle Sebastian’s wrist and forcibly brings the palm of the demon’s hand to rest against his cheek. He stares up into Sebastian’s preternatural eyes with defiance, daring his demon to tease him for such an odd and childish request.

But Sebastian does not tease. Unfalteringly perceptive, his expression soon relaxes into a knowing smirk and he cups Ciel’s face in earnest, brushing his thumb over the delicate skin beneath Ciel’s eye, the very eye which bears the ungodly mark of their Faustian contract.

“Like this, Young Master?” Sebastian inquires. His tone is gentle and surprisingly free of cruel amusement.  

Ciel doesn’t answer him. He lets his eyes flutter closed and grips Sebastian’s wrist, fingernails digging into the demon’s cool and unyielding flesh. Sebastian caresses the sensitive skin beneath Ciel’s chin now, icy fingertips tracing the smooth line of his jaw. Ciel is unable to ignore the unique pleasure Sebastian’s touch gives him—so different from his mother’s touch, and yet undeniably comforting all the same.

Sebastian’s hands move to Ciel’s throat, one fingertip trailing over the as-yet undeveloped Adam’s apple, before lying to rest on his shoulders, thumbs stretching to apply gentle pressure to Ciel's protruding collarbones. Gently, the demon massages Ciel’s shoulders, and it is so relaxing Ciel thinks that if all of this was something other than a bizarre experiment, he might order Sebastian to continue his ministrations until Ciel falls asleep.  

But a bizarre experiment is precisely what this is. Sebastian’s hands wander from Ciel’s shoulders to the centre of his chest, resting just over his pounding heart, and begin to drift even lower, toward his stomach, when Ciel’s eyes snap open. “Stop,” he orders, holding firm to the demon’s wrist. “That’s enough.”

“Understood,” Sebastian replies pleasantly, and removes his hands from Ciel’s body at once. His expression remains unfazed. “Can I do anything else for Young Master?”

“No,” Ciel mutters, and wraps his arms around himself, almost protectively. “That will be all for tonight.”

Sebastian bows his head, one hand over his missing heart, and answers, “Of course, My Lord.” He takes the candelabra from the dresser and departs the room at once. But before he closes the door behind him, he imparts, “Have a pleasant sleep, Young Master. Tomorrow is a busy day,” as if nothing out of the ordinary has just passed between them. He is nothing if not perfectly discreet.

Ciel crawls between the sheets when he is alone, eyes open and unblinking in the darkness. He can still feel the echoes of Sebastian’s hands on his skin, as if his demon’s touch has marked him. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, imagining those hands are on him still, and the fantasy provides him with an odd sense of security.

As bizarre as it is to find comfort in a demon, Ciel thinks, Sebastian is the closest thing to him—the one being in all the world who will remain by his side until the very end. It will surely be Sebastian, then, who will be the _last_ creature ever to lay hands on him. After acknowledging this bitter truth, Ciel doesn’t think what he has just requested of Sebastian is so strange after all.     


End file.
